


Mine

by Lovespie (Snarryeyes)



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Lovespie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach is all worked up. Chris wonders why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a sequel to 'What You Don't Know.' My contribution to the August Challenge of getting 1000 Pinto fics on AO3. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Not real. No offense intended to those portrayed herein.

They’re barely through the front door before Chris is pushed back against it and his lips covered. Chris’ answering moan sounds abnormally loud in the semi-darkness, the keys slipping from his grasp to hit the floor with a clink. Lately he’s been staying most nights at Zach’s place—by general agreement due to the need to feed and walk Zach’s dogs on a rigid schedule—but tonight Chris’ was nearer and Zach was unusually impatient. And Chris isn’t going to complain. Actually, he’s secretly glad not to have to share Zach’s attention with his furry children for once (as well as not having to pause festivities to steer them out of the bedroom, because doleful eyes watching every move isn’t really conducive to a make-out session).

“Man, you are such a horndog,” Chris teases as Zach moves to attack his neck, angling his head away to allow better access.

“Shut up and take your jacket off.”

Chris grins victoriously. “And suddenly not so eloquent.”

“I reserve the right to conserve my eloquence until I’m able to bestow it on a subject worthier than your blue suit,” Zach replies, voice muffled against warm skin. “However hot you may look in it, you look better out of it; something that reporter will never know.”

“Reporter?” Chris frowns, having momentarily lost track of Zach’s words amidst the mounting swirl of sensations. He has a feeling he’s missed something important. “What reporter?”

“Never mind. Jacket.”

“Christ!”

“Zach,” he is duly corrected.

Swatting Zach’s arm, Chris tries to shrug the offending garment off—which isn’t easy when he’s still pressed between Zach and door with Zach rubbing his face along Chris’ jaw line like a cat. Zach has a thing about beards, or more precisely _Chris’_ beard, so Chris has taken it upon himself to tease him with it in every interview, taking every opportunity to touch and stroke his jaw as he answers the same questions over and over. And Zach has made him pay for it in spades.

“Bedroom,” Zach suddenly announces, grabbing Chris’ hand and pulling him into the dark interior of the house. He’s been there enough times to know his way without needing the lights on. 

Chris allows himself to be dragged along, musing that the reporter Zach mentioned—whoever he or she was—must have gone all out to get Zach to this level of possessive. He casts his mind back over the countless reporters at the premiere, trying to pick out a suspect, but then Zach’s lips are back on his and that thought becomes utterly superfluous. They tumble onto the bed together, Zach’s fingers already most of the way through Chris’ shirt buttons, his mouth following behind them to map the exposed skin.

Groaning, Chris lets his head flop onto the cool sheets, his hands reaching up to slide into Zach’s hair. “So… this reporter,” he begins, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. He can’t resist pushing Zach up a notch.

Zach growls against his skin, nipping a little harder than usual. “I believe I told you to be quiet.”

Chris lifts his head up, still grinning, his eyebrows raised in challenge. “Make me.”

Without warning, Zach rips Chris’ pants open and grabs hold of the hard length straining against the soft cotton underwear. Chris hips instantly buck up as his head drops back down, his mouth snapping shut, fingers tightening in Zach’s hair.

“You were saying?” Zach smirks.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Chris says in a rush, torn between pulling Zach back up to plunder his mouth and pushing him further down to take care of business. Zach makes the decision for him, shifting to maneuver Chris’ pants all the way down and off, his underwear following.

“Much better,” Zach murmurs approvingly, taking in the sight laid before him.

Chris bites back a whine of impatience. “You’re still a little overdressed.”

“First things first.”

Before Chris can respond, Zach has pushed his legs up to his chest and is running his tongue between the firm cheeks of Chris’ ass. This time Chris _does_ whine, a breathy high-pitched sound that he hadn’t known himself capable of. The warm wetness of Zach’s tongue licking and probing the quivering ring of muscle surrounding his hole is driving him crazy. It takes him straight back to the incredible sex marathon they’d had that morning before the whole press circus had started.

“Zach, come on,” he says breathlessly. “I’m still loose. Just fuck me already.”

Zach slides his mouth up to enclose Chris’ rock hard cock, pulling off again with an obscenely sexy expression. “Yes, Captain.” 

It’s only moments before Zach is prepared and Chris feels the slick heat breaching him. Chris arches his back, pulling him deeper as Zach’s arms come down on either side of him, his lips claiming Chris’ in a searing kiss. Now it’s finally within reach, Chris’ hands take the time to wander all over Zach’s bare skin, heading down to grab and squeeze his ass, using it for leverage to urge him further, faster, harder.

Zach doesn’t need encouragement; he drives Chris into the bed like a man possessed. Moving his mouth to attack Chris’ neck, Zach bites on the pulse point just the way he knows Chris likes it, then laving the reddened flesh with his tongue. More than ever, Chris feels like he’s being claimed. And he loves it. Loves Zach. 

When Zach reaches between them to take hold of Chris’ weeping cock in a firm grip, working it in time to his thrusts, it only takes four or five strokes before Chris is coming in hot spurts across his chest, his, “Fuck,” whispered almost reverently against the shell of Zach’s ear. Zach starts to lose his rhythm and it’s only several more thrusts before he’s coming apart inside of Chris, his arms trembling with the strain, lips moving back to slide across Chris’ with a slow exhale and a murmured, “So fucking hot.”

Later that night, when Zach's body is curled around Chris' comfortably, his breath slowly evening out in soft puffs across his neck, Chris decides that he’s going to go online in the morning and find out exactly what that reporter said. He also has half a mind to send them a fruit basket.


End file.
